


Beyond the Door.

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 19:29:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For as long as I can remember the door has always been there. I have memories of staring at the door. Memories of the door looming over me, and always feeling so small.





	Beyond the Door.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I wrote all of this based off of the three words 'Beyond the door.'  
I felt like I could make something kinda ominous like what was really behind the door, so I did! I hope you enjoy this little thing I made!

For as long as I can remember the door has always been there. I have memories of staring at the door. Memories of the door looming over me, and always feeling so small. I have spent entire dreams staring at the door. 

When I moved closer, my vision would always cut out. The door’s figure would begin to blur and the ringing in my ears would get louder and louder and as I reached to open the door-

I’d jerk awake. 

I was fairly young at the time, and when the dreams stopped, they became little more than a distant memory. 

I never really thought too much into it until now, but as a child, when I’d linger near the door too long I’d get this sense of doom. During these times I would either run from the door or my parents would call me. 

But the strange part about this is that my parents only called when curiosity outweighed fear and I was about to open the door. What gives me chills to think about now, is that my parents never remembered calling out to me at all.

As a child, I wrote off these incidents, but now I don’t think I can. 

The more I write about this incident the weirder everything seems. Like how I never saw anyone use the door. My mom was a clean freak, yet I never once saw her bring a sponge or cloth to the door. The paint was always perfect, never chipped, never scuffed. Keeping its perfect, glossy, white coat. 

It seemed as though the door wasn’t even apart of the house. I once tried asking my parents about the door, but they shrugged off the question and diverted my attention. I never asked again after that, it just didn’t seem important. 

To whoever is reading this, if you’re wondering why I decided to sit down and finally document my experiences, it’s because of what has recently transpired. 

I recently moved back into this house. My parents passed away a month ago, and they left me with it. At first, I was against it, but when I thought about my mother's garden and my father’s workshop that was built into the house, I agreed.

Yesterday, I finished moving in. It wasn’t much, other than moving my most prized belongings into the house. I had been looking around yesterday when I saw the door again. 

I’d tried to open it but it was locked. I searched the entire house, but I never found a key. 

When I went to bed earlier, I had the dream again, and this time the door opened on its own. I hadn’t even made a move to open it and yet that’s what it did. 

It wasn’t past two in the morning when I jerked awake, it’s now four in the morning, the sun is not up yet. To whoever is reading this letter, this note or whatever you wish to call it. I left my bedroom door open, so when I look up from my place at this desk I can fully and clearly see the door. 

I am sorry if my writing is getting more frantic but I fear the worst. I never did find the key to that door, and I live alone. So the question has remained in my head this whole time. 

Why? Why is the door open? I didn’t open the door, so how in the hell? I fear I have been losing my mind. With every stroke of this pen, I feel my sanity slipping away.

If anyone finds this letter, it means that my worries and fears were correct and I am dead. 

I am going to look beyond the door, and into the darkness. I am going to finally put a rest to my worries. I am finally going to get the answer I had previously longed for. 

The longer I look at the door I hear the familiar ringing in my ears. My vision is beginning to get hazy. If I listen hard enough I hear whispering, I really have lost my sanity haven’t I? 

While I can still somewhat put coherent words together I am ending this letter. As I look towards the door the whispers have turned into yelling. The same yelling I had heard all those years ago. This time more dark and twisted, now that my parents are gone. And I now know for a fact it wasn’t them. 

I’ve dragged this on for too long, goodbye. I am ending this letter once and for all. 

Sincer-


End file.
